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Spilled Paint Story

2.
Select 3 colors of paint & fold paper. Unfold & drop
some paint on to the paper. Repeat. Often. A lot.
Repeat until you have 6 to 8 pieces of paper with paint.

3.
Unfold the
papers and
study them
& see what
story you
might tell.
Rehearse
possible
stories with
friends.

4.
Think about story structure as you
view your images. What story might
you tell?
• Somebody (Characters)
• In (Setting)
• Wanted (Goal/Motivation)
• But (Obstacles/Problem)
• So (Resolution)

5.
An Evil Witch
A man who is
a peasant. His
name is Sam
The peasant’s wife.
Her name is Tilda.
Ask yourself: Who is in your story?

6.
Go ahead and tell a
story.
Let your knowledge of
story and the spilled
paint guide you.

7.
Once upon a time
in deep yellow
woods, there
lived a peasant,
Sam and his wife,
Tilda.

8.
They lived deep in these
woods, beside a beautiful lake.
It was this lake, with its magic
waters that provided Sam and
Tilda with the gift of youth.
They would never age so long
as they could drink from the
waters daily.

9.
In this land, it was always spring. Our happy couple was
content with their lives. They thought the peaceful feelings
that filled them came from being young, came from being
eternally youthful.
And so, they wanted nothing more than to live with one
another in peace.

10.
The peasant and his wife loved
to visit the lake. In this land
it was always spring . And our
couple was happy, content
with their lives. They
wanted to live in peace.
Day and night,
Sam and Tilda
lived life fully,
secure in their
youthfulness.

11.
There was an evil that resided not
too far from this enchanted land,
an evil that was known by Sam
and Tilda.
There in the dark woods, beyond
the lake, lived a witch who was
very jealous of the youth Sam and
Tilda enjoyed. She secretly
wanted to be young again and
perhaps, to also be in love. She
could just barely remember how
years earlier there had been a
wizard she had loved and lost. If
only I could sip from that deep
blue lake, she thought.
But alas, she was unable to do so.
For only one woman and one man
who loved were permitted the
water from the lake.

12.
There must be a way,
thought the witch as she
watched Sam and Tilda
from a distance. Hidden
behind a copse of trees she
gave the matter some
thought.
Perhaps, if Tilda should
meet an unexpected end,
why then I could take her
place, reasoned the witch.

13.
The next morning, disguised in the
quiet blues and shimmering yellows
of spring, the wicked witch set out
to meet Tilda in the woods. There
she pretended to be her friend.
“Dear Tilda, I have made a spring
stew. Would you care for some?”
asked the witch.
“Why, yes I’m feeling a bit peckish,”
said Tilda. “Thank you dear friend, I
would be happy to eat some of your
stew.”
And so the two set off to the witch’s
hut.

14.
As they neared the hut
the witch said, “Let’s sit
outside in the field. It’s
such a lovely day. I’ll just
go in and get us each
some stew.”
The witch handed Tilda
a large bowl filled with
stew. Floating on top
were red poppy leaves.
So pretty, thought Tilda
as she ate until none
was left.
With the sunlight
streaming down on her,
Tilda began to feel a bit
drowsy.
“Oh my, I’m feeling
somewhat tired, "she
said. “I must lie down.”

15.
“Sleep,” said the witch. A
slight laughter rimmed
her words.
And Tilda fell into a
deep,
deep
sleep.

16.
Now Sam was lounging by the lake
wondering where Tilda had wandered
off to. He was drowsy and soon fell to
sleep. It was afternoon when he found
himself waking, startled by the
insistent call of blue jays.
Waking, he looked to the woods and
saw a beautiful woman. She slowly
made her way closer to him and the
lake. Sam sensed danger.
“Good day, kind sir,” said the witch.
“Yes, here it is always a good day,”
answered Sam cautiously.
Sam looked again. Where was that
red glow coming from, he wondered.
Beneath the serene blues of her cape,
Sam could see the evil, he could sense
it.
Why it’s the witch, thought Sam.

17.
Think About Story Structure As You
Viewed Your Images
• So (Resolution)
As she moved closer to him, Sam sprung
into action and quickly
wrapped his arms around the lake
sheltering it, keeping it safe from the
witch. Repeating aloud the spell his
mother’s mother had taught him when he
was just a small lad, Sam shouted,
“Thrice around the circles
bound and sink all evil to the
ground.
Thrice around the circles bound
and sink all evil to the ground.
Thrice around the circles bound
and sink all evil to the ground.
So Mote It Be.”

18.
“I want that lake,” yelled the
witch and she reached to take it
from Sam. Now the spell
protecting Sam and the lake
was stronger than the evil witch
and as soon as she touched
him, the witch slithered to the
ground, flamed, and turned
into a handful of ash.
Sam too fell to the ground,
exhausted. His arms let go of
the lake.
He laid on the hard ground and
watched as the precious waters
of his and Tilda’s magic lake
overflowed its banks, filling the
land beyond the forest.
Oh no, the lake’s precious water
is leaving, Sam thought. What
will we do now?

19.
And as the lake emptied, the
world surrounding it became
less colorful, less vivid. Sam felt
his bones growing brittle, his
hair thinning, his skin sagging.
Oh, my sweet Tilda, where are
you, he wondered as he drew
his body from the ground and
stood.
“I must go and find her,” Sam
said to the trees and leaves and
field. “I must make this right.”
And so he set off, using a
crooked branch as a walking
stick. He made his way towards
the west, towards the setting
sun. Now and then he would
call, “Tilda, my sweet, where
are you?”

20.
Unknown to Sam, in a not too
far away field, Tilda slept, still
wrapped in leaves.
There the water from the lake
began to trickle, and then rush,
and then quickly fill the field
until it became a lake.
Tilda, in her leaf cocoon,
floated and now and then
some water slipped over the
leaves’ edges-- wetting her.

21.
Slowly, the water revived Tilda and slipping
from her cocoon she swam to the shore.
There she spied Sam approaching. Seeing her,
he quickened his steps.
He looks so thirsty, so worn, thought Tilda.
Lifting water from the lake in her cupped hands,
Tilda offered the drink to Sam and he drank
deeply.
He felt his heart heal.
“Oh Tilda, I thought I had lost you,”
said Sam, wiping a greying hair from
her forehead. His touch was tender.
“I was never far away,” Tilda
told him, leaning heavily on his
arm as they left the lake behind.
“I was never too far, Sam.”

22.
As night fell, Sam and Tilda finally arrived home. Their gate was less certain, age having
crept into their steps. Nonetheless, they were grateful to have found one another
again, grateful to be able to gather the dark night around them like a shawl and find the
sweetness of sleep together.